


The Bachelor Game

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, Humor, M/M, POV Experimental, SGA Saturday Prompt Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 19:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1755037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney says he's done with wimmin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bachelor Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mischief5](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischief5/gifts).



Rodney was acting weird. Or, more weird, on the sliding scale that John kept in his brain—the one that went from Baseline Mad Scientist all the way out to Maybe-a-Goa'uld-Really-Has-Him-This-Time, which John was never quite willing to take off the table after Doranda.

This weird was much lower on the scale though. Maybe it was the haircut, and the way Rodney kept flicking his hand up the back of his neck and then, for some reason, looking over at John like it was his fault his hair was so short. In point of fact, Rodney had declared it was part of his Freedom Declaration after his very messy breakup with Jennifer, in which she got seasons 1-2.5 of _Battlestar Galatica_ and he was stuck with the rest of the series. 

"I've had it with women, Sheppard," Rodney had said, and John raised his eyebrows because—yeah, right. 

"Going cold turkey, are you?" It was a thought. John's last flirtation on P8K-216 had tried to have him drawn and quartered. Literally.

"You don't think I can do it?" Rodney had paced John's quarters, building up steam. "They always seem to want something indefinable I can't provide. Well, how can I give it to them if they don't actually tell me what it is!" he said, stabbing his index finger at the air. "And it's not like I was entirely...satisfied myself."

John suppressed a groan. Rodney always wanted to talk sex with him. 

"Not sure how you're gonna get any satisfaction _not_ sleeping with them," John said. And then, before Rodney could open his mouth, "Hey, I brought the new L4D back from Earth. Let's kill some zombies."

So they'd killed some zombies, and every so often Rodney would look over at John as if he wanted to start up with the conversation again, but John would just nail him with friendly fire until he paid attention to the game again. 

Actually, that was another part of the weirdness: how Rodney'd been staring at John lately as if John had egg hanging off his lip or something. He kept giving John this slightly queasy look that made John turn away to brush his hand over his mouth.

But anyway, Rodney seemed true to his word, because he stopped dating entirely, stopped talking about that blonde's boobs or this brunette's rear end, which was fine with John because he wasn't getting any either and it just made him frustrated.

Then there was the Athosian Evening of Lights, when all the kids made waxed lanterns and placed them all around the settlement, and the adults burned these really cool fire sticks and danced with them, swirling them around in the air in these complex patterns that left behind sweet-smelling smoke that made John a little dizzy where he sat with Rodney, Zelenka, and Ronon.

Rodney coughed and sneezed a lot and complained about his allergies.

Zaline, Teyla's, like, third cousin by kinship marriage or something—John wasn't clear on how it all worked—was beckoning to John to get up and dance. She had an extra stick and was holding it out. The whole thing looked like a lot of fun and also a really great opportunity for second degree burns but, hey, John was game. He started to get up, but Rodney yanked him back down, landing him on his hip and yelling in his ear over the drumming. 

"Hey, I thought we had a deal—no more women! Women are nothing but bad news!"

John didn't remember making any sort of bargain, but he was willing to grant Rodney the benefit of the doubt seeing as he had a grip on John's arm tighter than his great Aunt Tilly on her last bottle of Jameson. Also, John kind of liked the way Rodney emphasized "we," like they were partners in misery, not that John'd say as much. But he gave Zaline a regretful shrug and she disappeared back into the ring of dancers.

Rodney didn't let go of his arm.

:::

So, there was that. Weird, but John was used to weird, and it was Rodney. There was something to the idea, too—John liked to think of it, the two of them knocking around as two old bachelors. Not that John thought old age was in the cards for either of them. That was the thing.

But he kind of figured Rodney was working on some sort of plan, probably involving holograms and virtual reality girlfriends or something. He nearly asked a couple of times but didn't. Rodney worked well under pressure, but for certain things, it was better to let the genius just percolate, and John had a feeling this was one of those situations. 

Then Dr. Charlotte "Call me Charlie" Matisse arrived fresh off the _Hammond_. Oh, boy. She came in as Zelenka's assistant, a civil engineer, badly needed. She was acid smart, perky and blonde, and extremely curvy under those overalls. Over breakfast the next morning, she immediately got into a hot debate with Radek and Rodney about doing things the "right way" versus always going for the "quick fix."

John stopped by the lab one evening a few days later to pull Rodney out for a game of Wii _Legend of Zelda_ and found them all wrapped up in a serious three-way nerd-fight. Zelenka's hair had attained new levels of frizz, Charlie was shaking an uncapped Dry Erase marker at Rodney and had a streak of blue on her jaw, and Rodney's cheekbones were bright red, his hands zigzagging through the air as if he were weaving an incantation.

None of them noticed John walking in, taking one look at the bright glint in Rodney's eye as he smirked out an insult of Charlie's _alma mater_ , and then walking out again.

So much for the pact, if that was what it was. Because it looked like Rodney was a total goner.

John took the transporter and swung by his secret beer cache to grab a couple of cold six-packs, then went knocking on Ronon's door.

"How about a game of darts?"

"You got beer? The good stuff?" 

John held up the six-packs. 

"Okay, then." 

Darts was the compromise between golf, which Ronon hated, and knife-throwing contests, which led to bleeding (on John's part) and wall damage (on Ronon's). Especially after they'd had a few.

"So, what's going on?" Ronon asked, one beer in and with sixty already on the board. Bastard. 

"Nothing much." John absolutely wasn't moping, because John didn't mope, and anyway, what was there to mope about? Even if there was a plan, he'd never gotten to see it.

"Uh-huh," Ronon said, giving him a look. He tossed his empty into John's wastebasket and took back the darts. John hadn't even managed to double in yet. It wasn't right that Ronon was beating him at his own game.

Although, John had a secret advantage in that his dart throwing tended to improve the more he drank.

Three beers in, he was throwing easily and on target, and Ronon was giving him amused looks.

"Don't get any ideas. Doesn't help my shooting a lick."

Ronon smirked.

They were tied by the third round, which meant the rules changed and they could start interfering with each other's throws. John scored big by poking a wet finger in Ronon's ear. Ronon retaliated by shoving his elbow into John's armpit. 

It escalated from there.

Everything would have been fine if John's bootlaces had been tied and if that table hadn't been there. That was what John told Jennifer later, anyway, when they were scoring an ice pack for John's eye and getting Ronon's wrist scanned.

They went back to John's room afterward to try to straighten up, but it was kind of a lost cause, so they settled for turning the couch-thing upright again so they could sit on it. John was pretty sure the couch-thing had moving parts and could actually convert into a bed like a futon, but he'd never figured out how exactly, so it always just sat there taunting him. He hated being outsmarted by his own furniture.

Ronon offered him another beer, but John waved it away in favor of holding the ice pack against his eye, which really fucking hurt; thanks a lot, stupid table.

"Well, that was fun." John looped one leg over the arm of the couch. 

Ronon grunted.

"So, how's Amelia doing?"

"She's mad at me."

"What else is new?"

Ronon elbowed him, which—no fair. Game over.

"She says I'm wasting my brain; says I'm really smart and should go back to school and use my mind for something other than shooting shit."

"Oh, yeah. I've heard that tune before."

"Yeah. I bet McKay gives you the same song. Thinks he knows what's best for you." Ronon made a disgusted noise.

"Wha—" John choked on his own spit. "That's—hey, we're not—Rodney and I aren't like you and—

"Oh. All right. My mistake." 

"What? What the fuck, Ronon?" 

Only, just then the doors opened and Rodney came bustling in. He took one look around, at the sorry remains of the table and the broken bottles at their feet, the two of them sitting there, Ronon with his hand in a splint and John with the ice pack propped on his face, and Rodney slapped a palm on his forehead.

"You are unbelievable! Can't I leave you alone for one red hot second, Sheppard?" He stomped over to John and snatched away the ice pack to look at John's eye. "Did you do this?" he said to Ronon, waving the ice pack. 

Ronon turned his head and raised his eyebrows at John. And, okay, John could maybe see Ronon's point. 

"You wouldn't hit an injured man, McKay." Ronon waved his splinted arm. 

"No, I suppose not. But you'll be hearing from me about this." Rodney carefully replaced the ice pack back on John's face.

Ronon pressed his lips together hard. John bit back a groan. 

"It's fine, Rodney. We just got a little bit carried away with the game."

"What game? I thought you and I were going to play _Legend of Zelda_?" Rodney's lower lip pooched out, honest-to-God.

"Yeah, no. We were playing Satedan Darts."

Ronon chuckled a little and heaved himself up one-handed. "Good game, Sheppard. Let's do it again."

"Anytime. Thanks, Ronon."

Rodney watched Ronon leave, a definite hint of _Good riddance_ in the jut of his jaw.

John scratched his head. "Just having fun," he said apologetically.

"And what about our game? You never showed." Now, that was definitely was a pout.

"I did. You looked like you were pretty busy." Whoa. That came out a lot more bitterly than John meant it to.

Rodney's eyes narrowed. John blinked, trying for innocent and probably just looking stupid. But, stupid would work. He'd go with stupid.

"Well, obviously not, since here I am," Rodney said.

"Here you are," John said, nodding.

"Because..." Rodney prompted.

"Because...?"

"Because...yes?"

Now John did feel stupid. "Because we're going to play _Legend of Zelda_?"

"No, you idiot! Because we have a deal! A pact!" Rodney came over and plopped on the couch next to him. "God, do I have to carry all the weight here?"

"Well, I just sort of assumed you were working on the plan," John confessed, because knowing Rodney—when it came to the details, he usually had them in hand. 

"The plan." Rodney turned and hung his elbow over the back of the couch. "What's this about a plan?"

"You know..." John gestured vaguely and then tossed the ice pack onto the table. It started to ooze slowly down to the floor. "I figured, something—virtual reality girlfriends, or sex machines, or maybe android robots, although I'm really drawing the line at Replicators or anything with the words 'o-matic' in the title—what? Why are you laughing?"

"Oh, dear God." Rodney shook his head.

"What? Okay, I've had a few, I admit, and I'm working with a head injury here—"

"Do I really look—oh, God, oh—" Rodney wiped his eyes. "Seriously, do I look like I have the time to invest in designing androids with artificial intelligences to serve as our personal sex machines? Which, forgive me, when I go down for my Nobel, it won't be because I beat the Turing Test so you can get your rocks off, Sheppard." 

"No, no. Fair point, I guess." John wasn't really disappointed. The whole thing did sound kind of stupid and sleazy. He didn't want Rodney to build him a sex bot. He'd just thought, well, they'd have to spend a lot of time working on it together. Getting it right together. Working on what worked. 

"I like that part of the idea, at least," Rodney said. His voice sounded hoarse. 

Oh, fuck. John had said that right out loud. "Yeah. Well, good. But no nanites, because those suck."

Rodney stared at him, and his tongue flicked over his lower lip. John found himself doing the same thing. He wondered when his lips had gone dry. 

"The getting it right part, though—that has promise," Rodney repeated. 

"Yeah, well. Everyone has, you know, personal tastes about those things. You can't really design a one-sex-bot-fits all—" Jesus, what the hell was he talking about? Oh. This was definitely what Ronon, that smart-ass bastard, had figured out, because John was getting hard. Talking about personal tastes with Rodney, whose hand was on his knee.

When did that happen?

"No, you'd definitely want to adjust to fit different parameters," Rodney said, sounding nervous. He was blinking a lot, his eyes traveling from John's mouth then down to his chest and waist then back up to John's eyes. 

"Parameters," John echoed. "Like, uh, lips." Because he couldn't stop looking at Rodney's lips. "And, you know, kissing. Right? Some people really like kissing, other people not so much."

"That's definitely true. Definitely, probably—" Rodney kissed him.

Jesus.

Okay, this was a definite plot twist, a wrench in the works, but okay, he could roll, he was rolling with Rodney's tongue in his mouth, because his dick was rock hard and drilling a hole in his zipper, and all Rodney had done was kiss him, with wet lips and tongue, and squeezed John's leg once.

Holy fuck.

"Yeah, good, good," John mumbled against Rodney's mouth. "That's good," he said, pulling away a little. "Um. Put that on the list." Kissing a guy. Kissing Rodney. Definitely went on the list.

All part of the plan. 

"We're in agreement," Rodney said, sounding breathless. His face was pink and his eyes really, really blue. If John was making a bot, it would have blue eyes, and hands like Rodney's, dexterous hands that were, whoa, unbuttoning John's shirt. 

Okay, that was good too, because it was really hot in here.

Rodney took off his own shirt, and John's sore cheek hurt. He realized it was because he was grinning. 

"What?" Rodney said, sounding irritated.

"Nothing, just—you have pink nips. Kinda cute, there, McKay."

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Rodney said. "Get up for a second."

John got up and waited out the head rush, taking a few steps to get out of the way because Rodney was up to something. He shoved the table to the side and then clucked and pushed here, prodded there, and whammo, like magic, John's couch-thing turned into a big old bed.

"Son of a bitch," John said. "I knew it."

"Hmm? Knew what?"

"Never mind," John said. 

"Then take off your shoes and pants."

"Right." Down to business. "So, this was the plan all along?" John asked as he shucked his boots and toed off his socks. "You must think I'm a big dummy." 

"Plan?" Rodney was already almost done, was down to his boxers, his hair flying every which way. John looked his fill, a little bit freaked but also way turned on, because sex was in the offing, and it had been way too long, and this was Rodney, who never did anything halfway—it was always either a dance in the end-zone and champagne all around, or a full-on nuclear catastrophe. 

Either way, there was going to be a bang.

"You know, the deal—no more women. Just us." John's voice cracked and dropped embarrassingly. He made a big ruckus plopping onto the bed, hoping Rodney wouldn't notice, but Rodney being Rodney, there wasn't much hope of that.

Sure enough, Rodney crawled right on after him, his eyes like lasers. "I just finally did the math. I've had exactly two—well, make that three, if you count Radek, but, eh, he doesn't have your hair—steady, workable relationships in my life, Colonel. The first was in grad school, and lasted three years until he went off to work in academia and I, traitor that I am, moved into the private sector. He isn't speaking to me anymore, of course. Hazard a guess as to whom the third might be."

"Huh."

"Yes." Rodney's big, rough palm roved up John's leg, pushing against the hair. It felt good, if weird. But then weird was the hallmark of the day.

"You're, um. Pretty unique for me, too."

"Oh?" Rodney's smile went lopsided and kind of shy. It gave John the courage to find a few more words.

"Yeah. One of two. And she's not really happy with me either."

"Well, there you go, then." 

This time, John pulled Rodney down for a kiss, and it wasn't as strange this time—the scratch of Rodney's cheeks and his pushy, thick tongue. Then Rodney sort of melted on top of him, and that felt good, really good—Rodney was warm and soft and hard in places—and holy crap, that was Rodney's dick, hot and heavy through their boxers and pressed up against John's. 

Christ, that felt pretty awesome.

"Mmmm," Rodney said into John's mouth. John kind of agreed.

But then Rodney pulled away and started kissing down John's neck, making him shiver, and Rodney's hands were suddenly all over, rubbing through John's chest hair and over his nipples; Jesus, John hadn't been this turned on during sex since he and Nancy had discovered the handheld water attachment in their shower. 

Then Rodney's mouth started heading south.

"Holy fuck," John said. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I assure you: I am always dead serious when it comes to sex."

"But..." John got distracted as Rodney pulled down John's boxers and tossed them aside. "You..."

"Are you really turning down a blowjob?"

"No, sir, not me. Never." 

Rodney stared down for a moment, just looking at John's cock, and just that—only that—was almost enough to make John come. 

"You're killing me," John said just as Rodney took hold of him, so maybe the last part of it came out on kind of a squeak. Sue him, because Rodney had great hands and really knew what to do with the merchandise. He stroked John a couple of times, as if to get him more pumped up before he started, but John could have told him that was hardly necessary.

Rodney bent over and licked softly at the head of John's cock, made a questioning sound that sent a shiver down John's spine, and then started sucking and mouthing at him and just generally driving John out of his mind.

John made noise. Way too much noise.

"Wait," John said just as things were getting too good.

"Seriously?" Rodney lifted his head.

"Yeah. I, uh—can you turn around this way? I want to get in the game." Because this was no fair. The deal was 'we,' John was pretty sure.

"Really? I get the impression you aren't too experienced, and I'm not all that eager to have my dick bitten off—"

"Ha-ha. Shut the hell up and turn around."

Rodney grinned and turned on his hip, letting John curl around and rest his neck on Rodney's thigh. The angle wasn't so great, but it gave him a real eyeful, up close and personal. 

This was a lot more advanced than shared handjobs with Timmy Roe at baseball camp. John never did get his sleeping bag clean. 

Here goes nothing, John thought, and grabbed ahold of Rodney's dick. Rodney groaned softly above him and didn't start back in sucking him right away, which was a good thing, because John didn't need the distraction. He'd rather focus on getting his lips around the head of Rodney's cock. He could totally do this.

The taste was kind of bland—not that different from a gal, actually, so that was cool. A little salty. John ran his tongue all around, getting everything nice and wet, just like he liked himself. Parameters—it was all about parameters. 

"Oh, my God," Rodney said, and reached down and ruffled John's hair.

"Mmm-hmm," John said, kind of agreeing. A second later Rodney attacked John's cock tongue-first, which was just plain mean—John was busy. Maybe Rodney could multi-task, but not everyone was so lucky, and right now John's brains were sinking south fast.

He tried to concentrate on getting his mouth moving up and down, getting his hand coordinated, but it was like mutually assured destruction—the more he focused on Rodney's dick, the more tricks Rodney pulled out of his hat, and the better Rodney's mouth felt on John's cock, wet and soft and making it zing all over while his hand jerked the base.

Then Rodney did something sneaky with his other hand, his fingers slipping behind John's balls, and goddamn it, John had to pull his mouth away and gasp, "Coming!"

Rodney just held on and let him come right there in his mouth, kept on sucking him as he came.

"Bastard," John said a little while later. He hated losing. "Get you for that."

"Be my guest," Rodney said magnanimously. 

Okay, so John got back into it, and his rhythm really was much more coordinated this time. Rodney's dick was really slick by now, so John got his mouth to travel pretty far down before coming back up each time, and Rodney was making great noises—not even words anymore, so way to go, John. 

He kept at it until his lips started to feel numb, and he was considering trying the pressure-behind-the-balls trick when Rodney's cock suddenly got even stiffer in his mouth. John didn't have a chance to pull back before Rodney's dick started pulsing against his tongue and filling his mouth with come. 

Yuck.

John tried to swallow but that made his jaws start to close, so instead he just sat there and let his mouth fill up. Some of the come dribbled down his chin. So fucking gross.

He pulled away and then made himself swallow, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth. When he turned to glare, Rodney was giving him big, apologetic eyes. 

"Caught me by surprise, too. Er, sorry about that?"

"Uh-huh." 

"There's a trick I can teach you that makes swallowing easier?"

Okay, the idea of Rodney teaching him sex tricks made John's dick perk up a little.

"And A-plus on the blowjob." Rodney gave him two thumbs up.

Feeling pretty smug, John tugged until Rodney joined him up at the top of the bed. 

"Not bad for a couple of losers in the game," John said. He felt great, his whole body humming with that just-been-laid feeling. It had been way too long.

"Excuse me, but who're you calling a loser?" Rodney's lip poked out.

"I just meant...never mind." John reached around the side of the couch and found the last unopened beer. A quick swig chased the taste of come out of his mouth. He offered it to Rodney, who took a sip and then hauled him over for a kiss.

This wasn't like the other kisses. This one was slow and patient and really kind of sweet.

Something clicked in the back of John's head.

"You know, you're a pretty smart guy, McKay," he said. And in case Rodney didn't get it, he added, "A real winner."

"Well, I've always thought so," Rodney said, the smile back on his face.

"A real genius." John nudged his shoulder. "You figured out the couch, anyway." 

"Of course I did," Rodney said. "Can you imagine having sex on that tiny bed of yours?"

John very wisely didn't respond to that. "Anyway, I'm glad we made our deal." 

"You mean you're glad I thought of it."

"And you're glad I took you up on it."

"That, too," Rodney said generously. "To us," he said, toasting John with the bottle.

And if John had to kiss him for that, he figured it was okay.

It was on the list.

 

_End._


End file.
